In The Prince's Secret Service - 1. Healer, Heal Thyself

Patrick was wakened on a mid-summer morning by a commotion in the street. He opened the shutters and saw a crowd of men and boys gathered outside the home of his former master, the Healer William. Four men were carrying a litter that held a pile of blood-soaked rags. Others were pounding on the door to the healer’s home. Patrick called down, “What’s going on? What is the problem?”

Upon hearing Patrick’s voice, a boy at the edge of the crowd looked up and then climbed atop a rain barrel so that his head was only a few feet below Patrick’s window. “One of the boys was hurt during the hunt, and the healer isn’t home,” the boy said. “It’s as may be; he’s likely bled to death by now.”

Patrick was a little nonplussed by the boy’s casual attitude, but said, “Tell them to bring the boy to the school; I am a healer. I will meet you at the gate. Hurry, now.” He threw a robe over his head and belted it with a leather thong, stepped into sandals, and ran his hand through his unruly red hair before rushing from his room, along the gallery, and down the stairs to the gate. He reached the gate just as did the litter bearers. “Set him down here, on the flagstones. Please stand back, and let me work.” Patrick’s tone of command startled even himself; the litter bearers did as they were told. The rest of the crowd fell into a hush as the tall Elven tween knelt beside the litter.

Pulling back the blood-soaked cloaks and saddle blankets, Patrick saw the mangled body of a Human tween. The boy was as tall as Patrick, himself. Ash-blond hair was matted with blood. Deep slashes ran across his face; one eye was closed, the other lay on the boy’s cheek like a burst jellyfish. Brown shirt and tights and the flesh beneath ripped open to the bone along arms and left leg. A deep bite in the side, just below the rib cage. The wounds had been bound; else, the boy would already have bled to death. Patrick shuddered, but touched the boy’s throat. There was a pulse. It was weak and slow, but there was a pulse. The boy was alive. Patrick looked more deeply. The boy was there. He had not abandoned this body. There was a chance.

First, treat for shock. Ensure blood flow to the brain; ensure potassium and oxygen to the heart. Patrick looked into the eyes of one of the men hovering nearby. “You, roll up those robes and put them under that end of the litter, raise his feet.” The man hastened to obey. Patrick reached out with his left hand, and gathered the great magic. He put his right hand over the boy’s heart, and channeled power from the matrix into the boy’s body, focusing on the immediate task: constricting blood vessels at the wounds to prevent further loss of blood; and constricting blood vessels in the fingers, hands, toes, feet, and lower legs to force what blood was left into the heart, brain, and major organs.

That done, Patrick turned to the man he’d addressed earlier, and who was standing close as if awaiting further instructions. “He must be kept warm; look you there…the school’s seneschal. Ask him for blankets. Bring them here, please.” The man rushed to obey.

Patrick turned his attention back to his patient. My patient, he thought. So much more than the bruises and sprains and broken bones I have treated at the school; so much more than the minor illnesses I treated while I was in training. Am I competent to do this? There is so much to do…where do I start? He gathered more magic, and hesitated, unsure what to do first. Without warning, he felt the magic pass through his own body, saw it use his own organs, tissues, nerves, and fluids as a matrix, sensed it pass into the injured boy below him, carrying the pattern on which to base its healing.

Patrick shook his head, and looked to see what had directed the magic, but whatever it had been, it was over, gone. Patrick was alone again, but his patient was in much better condition than before. Now was not the time to wonder. But later…

Now I can take one thing at a time; first the eye, Patrick thought. The Elf gently pushed the eye toward its socket, while channeling energy to it. The slash in the eye began to close, and as Patrick pushed it toward its socket, it swelled with fluid. When the still flaccid eye was seated, Patrick tugged the lid down over it. Behind him he heard a gasp from one member of the crowd. He was conscious that the crowd had grown as the boys and men from the school gathered. Still, they remained silent.

The man returned. “Blankets,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” Patrick answered. “Cover his legs, please.” As the man knelt on the other side of the litter, Patrick continued to invoke magic. He channeled the power to his eyes, closed them, and saw the boy with Mage Sight. Interesting, he mused, he’s got Innate Magic…I can seethe glow underlying his boy magic…that’s strong, too. Let’s see. Heart. Strong, beating more regularly. Brain. About to become conscious. Must control the pain. He targeted the endorphin creation mechanism, and flooded the boy’s bloodstream with those molecules. There, that will keep him from dying from the pain as he becomes conscious. Mouth, throat, air passages, lungs. Okay. He can breathe, and he’s doing so. Stomach, intestines, liver. Hmm, that bite from whatever it was that got him in the side really bruised the liver. I’ll have to come back to that. Kidneys? Overloaded, of course. Stress hormones, poisons—likely from the claws of the creature. Here, take this as he funneled energy to those organs.Limbs. Getting cold; watch those fingers. Their blood supply is still shut down. Patrick opened his eyes.

Turning to the seneschal, Patrick asked, “May I have a pot of clean, hot water, please?” The man rushed off to comply.

Patrick spotted one of the students with whom he’d sparred yesterday. “David!” When he had the tween’s attention, he continued. “David, would you please get a clean sheet from the laundry; be careful to keep it clean; tear it into strips about a hand-span wide, and bring them to me?” The boy nodded and hurried away.

By this time, the School Master had arrived, and been briefed by one of the members of the hunting party. The two of them dispersed the crowd, the hunters to wait in one corner of the verandah that ran around the lower level of the courtyard; the students to their breakfast. The seneschal returned with a lidded pot of water. He was followed by boys who bore trays of refreshments for the hunters.

Patrick continued to channel power into the injured boy, focusing on maintaining body functions and reducing blood flow to the extremities, while keeping the torn blood vessels constricted to prevent further blood loss. He also channeled power to the bone marrow, where new blood would be made. It would be a slow process, and he could speed it up only a little.

David returned with bandages. Now the delicate task of cleaning and binding wounds could begin. Dipping his hand into the pot of clean water, Patrick dripped a little on the boy’s slashed cheek, employing common boy magic to draw out dirt as he did so. Patrick then made a pad from some of the torn sheet, and pressed it against the wound. Another strip, wound around the boy’s head and over the torn eye, held it in place.

“That was an easy one,” Patrick said to David. “Would you help me with his side?”

David nodded. Patrick tore the remains of the boy’s shirt away, and began to clean the bite in his side. David gulped as he saw the wound and the blood oozing out as Patrick worked. “You okay?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” David replied. “It’s just…” His voice trailed off.

With David’s help, Patrick cleaned and re-bandaged the worst of the boy’s wounds. Toward the end, he felt a deep lassitude coming over him. The strain of operating physically and magically was beginning to tell. He sat back. “That will do for now.”

He swayed, but before he could pass out, the seneschal helped him drink from a mug. Patrick was revived by the shock of lemon juice that had been fortified with sugar. “Thank you,” he said to the seneschal, “I needed that.”

The man who had brought the blankets was hovering nearby. Now, he addressed Patrick. “He is my son. Will he live?”

Patrick answered, “As best as I can tell, yes. It will take time for his body to heal, for it to replace the blood that was lost, and for the internal organs to regain full function. He will be in a great deal of pain—which largely can be controlled. It will be a month or more before he regains full use of his body, especially the muscles and nerves that were torn by that bite on his side. I’m sorry, I can’t say it any better…”

The man put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “You will be his healer until he is fully restored. I will pay you well; you will live at the court of Prince Auric.”

Patrick was a bit disconcerted by the man’s intensity. “I’m sorry. I have a contract with the school, here, and am in the middle of my training. I cannot leave, but will consent to visit and consult as I can. I’m sure the court has healers far more experienced than I.”

The boy’s father stood, and began to berate the Elf. “You will continue as his healer. I will buy your contract. I will buy the school, if necessary. I will…” He paused for breath and then broke off suddenly.

“Father,” came a whisper from the boy on the litter. “Father!”

The man knelt down, “Alan, Alan, you’re…”

“Please don’t yell, father. Don’t yell at him. Don’t force him…it’s not your decision…” the boy relapsed into unconsciousness.

Patrick knelt down and brushed aside the man. “Please stand aside, let me in…” He called upon magic, again, to monitor his patient. “He’s okay. It’s sleep, not coma. He needs rest and quiet, and time to heal. You can provide that at the court.” The Elf stood, and started to walk toward his room.

“Wait!” called the man. “Wait…please?”

Patrick turned.

“All right. But if the school master agrees, may my son stay here, and will you monitor his healing?”

Patrick agreed. “If the school master agrees. And if you will employ nurses…from the healer, next door. Your son…Alan? He will need constant care for the next several weeks, and I cannot do that, alone.”

“Agreed,” the man said. “Where’s Master Edo…? Oh, there.” He walked off.

David, who had stayed even though his tasks were done, whispered to Patrick, “You really stood up to him. Do you know who he is? He’s Sir Aaron, Count Silvanus, Prince Auric’s Chief Huntsman and a Privy Counselor. Alan is his son, his only son. And that’s Prince Auric over there on the veranda with the others! Don’t stare…too late.”

David and Patrick stood as a figure separated itself from the crowd and walked toward them. David bowed. Patrick, unsure what to do, followed the boy’s lead.

“No, no courtship here, boys,” the prince interjected, gently taking Patrick’s elbow. Speaking to David, he asked, “You’re Lord Brighton’s son David, aren’t you? Your father told me you were here.”

“Yes, my lord,” David answered.

“And you? Who are you that has saved the life of my friend?”

“Patrick, my lord, until recently student of William of Dunbar, the healer whose home is next door.”

“Well, indeed. Since William was not home, we were fortunate to have found one of his students. How is Alan?”

Patrick summarized what he’d told the boy’s father. “And, I think, his father will arrange for him to remain here for a while. I hope for my former master to look in on him, as soon as he returns.”

The prince nodded, and offered his hand first to Patrick, then to David. “Thank you, Patrick, for saving his life. Alan and his father are important to me. David, please give my regards to your father.” The boys nodded politely, but remembering the prince’s earlier instructions, did not bow as he returned to his followers. A few moments later, the prince and all the hunters save Alan’s father left the school.

“Prince Auric is a tween,” Patrick said to David. “I guess I knew that…”

“Yes,” David said. “Two older brothers were judged not worthy of inheriting. They say his father was disconsolate until the Privy Council agreed that Auric was qualified, and was named his father’s successor. The older brothers were satisfied. The eldest wanted to be a soldier, anyway. He’s in the army, somewhere in the west. The second…well, he’s a sweet boy, but he’ll never grow up. He’s still a boy, even though he’s decades older than Auric. They were put under powerful oaths, in any case.”

Alan’s father had struck a bargain with the school master. Patrick would be assigned two rooms, one for himself, and one for Alan. Nurses from the healer’s home next door, as soon as they could be hired, would be given access to the school. Patrick was to continue his training and service as the school’s healer. It was not anticipated that his care for Alan would interfere with those activities. In addition to a payment to the school master, a specified portion going to Patrick, Alan was to be enrolled as a student for not less than one year, as soon as he was sufficiently healed. The school master was particularly proud of that last part: the son of the prince’s chief huntsman would be a prominent student.

By early afternoon, Patrick’s former master, William the Healer and his household had returned. Alan’s father had dealt with the issue of nurses. He visited his son, now established in his room, before returning to the prince’s palace. Alan was awake, but groggy with endorphins, and could do little more than press his father’s hand.

Before he left, the boy’s father spoke to Patrick. “Thank you for saving my son’s life. I was wrong to have spoken to you as I did. Alan is my only child; his mother is dead. I was distraught. Please do not think that my son is like his father in that regard.” Without waiting for an answer, the proud man turned and left the school.

The first nurse to report was Alec, a Human tween whom Patrick had known when he was apprenticed to the healer. After exchanging greetings, Patrick inquired about the progress of the boy’s training. “Going well, it is. Working on bacteriology, now. Nasty little buggers, aren’t they? Understand your patient’s father is a somebody? Master William and he got along famously, though. Old friends, I’d guess. Wow, he’s really…he’s asleep, isn’t he? He really got it bad. What am I to do?”

Patrick explained, “He was a member of a hunting party. He received a number of slashes and bites, apparently from a mountain lion. By the time they got him here, he’d lost quite a lot of blood. His liver was bruised from that bite, here. This eye was gouged out, and is still only partly repaired. None of the wounds have been treated, except for initial cleaning and binding. He needs to be cleaned up and given fluids; wounds need to be checked, disinfected again, and re-bandaged. I’ve got to clean up, myself, and get some food. Can you handle things for an hour or so?”

Alec nodded, “Water and cloth?” He nodded again as Patrick pointed to the small toilet room that separated his room from Alan’s. “I’ll take good care of him, I promise.”

Patrick cleaned blood from his clothes and then himself before sliding into the hot soak. He’d been there only moments before David came in. After David cleaned himself, he padded over and joined Patrick in the soak.

“Thank you for all your help, David…” Patrick began.

David interrupted, “No. Thank you for asking me…after I beat you in sword drill, I was afraid you’d never talk to me again. No, that’s silly, isn’t it? Of all the boys at the school, you’re the only one who never holds a grudge. Still, I’m glad I could help and glad you asked me.”

David continued, “You weren’t using boy magic out there, were you?” Without giving Patrick a chance to answer, he continued, “No, of course not…Still…would you like to share boy magic with me?”

Patrick nodded. “Yes, David. I would like that very much.” David had jumped to the wrong conclusion: Patrick had, indeed, used boy magic as well as the great magic, and his reserves of boy magic were exhausted.

“Come to my room, then, if you please,” David invited.

When Patrick returned, he saw that Alec had taken good care of Alan. The injured boy was clean, his bandages had been changed, and he was asleep under a light blanket. The blanket did nothing to hide the outline of his body. Patrick’s breathing stopped for an instant when he looked at Alan. His ash-blond hair, no longer clotted with blood but radiant in the reflected sunshine, was spread on the pillow like a halo. Except for the bandaged eye and wounds, his face was stunningly handsome. The light blanket clung to the curves of his body. Patrick shook his head, and focused on the task. Alec, who had seen his friend’s reaction, smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t he?” Patrick nodded.

“You did a nice job of cleaning him up. How are the wounds? Did I miss anything? Which one do you think we should start with?”

Alec was immensely pleased that Patrick had asked him these questions. They had been friends when Patrick was apprenticed to Healer William. Now, Alec was concerned that Patrick, a Journeyman, would distance himself from that friendship.

Alec answered, “The big one, on his side. It’s going to take the longest to heal. And then,” he said wistfully, “then his face. We can’t leave it like that…”

Patrick stumbled to his feet, his knees aching and his vision blurred after focusing power into Alan’s wounded side.

“Well done, Patrick.” A familiar voice interrupted. The Elf turned to see Master Healer William standing just outside the doorway. “May I come in?”

“Of course, Master,” Patrick answered, still anxious for his former teacher’s approval. “Of course, please. Would you…” he gestured to the injured boy, “How is…well, you know…would you take a look?”

Master Healer William’s eyes twinkled as he nodded. “Thank you, Healer Patrick; I’d like to see what you’ve done with this patient. An especially difficult case of exsanguination, I heard.” The Master Healer strode to Alan’s bed and looked at the boy. “Very nice. That eye is going to be like new, isn’t it? And I see you’ve already started the liver repairing itself. Remarkable organ, that. Ah, the kidneys…more stressed than I would have thought. Power there, though. Yours? Yes, I see it is. Remarkable. Humph. The boy is lucky to have you as his healer. Good thing I wasn’t home. Humph.”

The days passed, and the nights. Despite the help of the nurses, Alec and Douglas, Patrick was hard pressed to care for his patient, practice his swordsmanship, and tend to all the aches and injuries of the School’s students. The terrible wound in Alan’s side reached a critical point in its healing, and it was necessary to drain fluid from it every hour or so, a task that required Patrick’s attention. Rather than have to walk back and forth to his room each time, Patrick had a large bed moved into Alan’s room, and catnapped on one side of the bed. He was in the middle of one of these naps when he wakened to feel Alan’s hand touching him. “Wha…?” he gasped as the boy’s gentle fingers stroked his chest and stomach. “Alan, you must stop…”

Alan’s hand retreated, but the boy whispered, “I must have you. Will you not share boy magic with me?”

“Alan, you’re not well enough for this, and besides, a healer and his patient? It’s out of the question.”

When Alec came the next day, he bore a message for Patrick. “Master William asks that you call on him at tierce today.”

“Of course. Did he say why?”

“No, but I think he’d like to know how Alan is getting along. Naturally I couldn’t tell him, since you’re his healer.”

Patrick hurried through breakfast, put on his second-best robe, ran his hands through his unruly red hair, and hastened through the gate of the school. Don’t want to be late, he thought. How do I answer his questions about Alan? Patrick rehearsed anatomical and medical terms in his mind as he walked the few steps to Master William’s home.

The door was opened by a boy Patrick did not know. The boy was apparently expecting a tall, redheaded Elf, and ushered Alan directly to Master William’s study, where the Master Healer was seated. In front of Master William was a low table on which was his silver tea service. Patrick noted that two pots were sitting over warming candles. And, did he smell coffee?

So wrapped up in his internal review of his report on Alan and the smell of coffee that Patrick did not notice that there was a second figure seated, his back to Patrick, next to Master William. Only when the figure turned its head did Patrick notice it, and it was several microseconds before he realized that it was Prince Auric.

Master William sensed Patrick’s confusion, and spoke, granting the tween time to compose himself. “My Lord, you will remember Healer Patrick, whom you met when Sir Aaron’s son was brought to the school next door, grievously injured.”

Patrick skidded to a halt and bowed. Auric rose and took the boy’s arm. “No courtship, here, Healer Patrick. Please, sit down. Master William has tea, and coffee for you and me.”

“Uh, my Lord, how do you know that I drink coffee,” Patrick asked.

Prince Auric chuckled. “I make it my business to know about anyone who is healer to the son of my friend and Privy Counselor. Besides, you’re an interesting person in your own right. An Elven mage who decides to be a healer, and studies the skills of a warrior, to boot. Tell me, Master Patrick, what brought you to Arcadia?”

“I was apprenticed to Aaron of Clairmont, a mage. After some years, he decided that I should study healing, and arranged an apprenticeship to Master William. It was Master William who felt that I was in the books too much, and needed practical experience. He arranged my position at the School. Not very exciting, I’m afraid, my Lord.”

“On the contrary, my friend,” the prince said. Over the next hour, the prince drew from Patrick many of the details of the Elven tween’s life: his decades of apprenticeship to an Elven mage; more years of apprenticeship to Master William; and the years working as Resident Healer at Edo’s School in exchange for room and board and training as a fighter.

“Naturally,” Patrick said, “I’m not as strong as Human boys, and despite my height, much lighter. I can sometimes hold my own when I use a longer and thinner sword than is customary. The other boys overwhelm me at quarterstaff.”

“How are you with a bow?” the prince asked. “Elves are generally excellent with a long bow. Eyesight, I suppose.”

“Only a fair shot, my Lord,” Patrick replied. “Elven eyesight cannot entirely compensate for lack of practice.”

At a pause in the conversation, Master William rose. “Patrick, we’ve taken you from your patient long enough. Please let me walk you to the door…if you’ll excuse me, my Lord?”

Prince Auric nodded, and then rose to clasp Patrick’s hand. “Thank you, Patrick. I’ve enjoyed the morning, and I appreciate your sharing your story with me.”

Patrick stuttered his thanks, and followed Master William to the door.

When Master William returned to his study, the prince had already poured himself another cup of coffee. After waiting in companionable silence for several moments, Master William ventured to ask, “So, my lord. What do you think of him?”

“Between Master Aaron, you, and now Master Edo next door, he’s been a student of three of the best teachers in World. How old is he? I couldn’t quite pry that from him without being too obvious.”

“Just shy of five centuries, my Lord.”

“Why, he’s scarcely more than a boy!” The prince sat back in his chair and pondered. “Do you suppose there are any more out there like him?”

Several mornings later, Alec spoke privately to Patrick. “Alan’s getting much better. He asked to share boy magic with me. I told him that I couldn’t, but he doesn’t seem to understand. And he wants you, anyway. I hear him calling your name in his sleep when he has an erection. He’s going to start having wet dreams if someone doesn’t help him.”

“I know,” Patrick said. “He’s asked me, as well, and doesn’t seem to accept my answer.” To himself the Elf added, and the real problem is that I want him just as badly.

Alan was well enough to take light exercise. Leaning on Patrick for support, he began with short walks around the courtyard, to the cheerful greetings of the other students, who seem genuinely glad to see him recovering. With the help of the school master, Patrick devised a series of exercises to help return the strength to the boy’s muscles—those in his side that had been re-grown, and those in his legs and arms that had been unused for so long. On one of their walks, Alan stumbled, and would have fallen had Patrick not supported him. As the boy recovered, he held on to the Elf. When his breathing slowed again, Alan whispered to Patrick. “I love you. Please, please share yourself with me!”

“Alan, I can’t,” Patrick replied with genuine anguish. “It’s not permitted.”

“I don’t understand. Why is it not permitted? Who doesn’t permit it? My father? I know that he and you…”

“No,” Patrick interrupted. “Not your father. My training and my oath. I’ll explain this evening. Please. Trust me.”

Alan looked directly in Patrick’s eyes. “With my life and my heart.”

That evening, Patrick made Alan comfortable in a chair. He sent Douglas off to supper. While Alan drank fruit juice, Patrick sipped a cup of coffee. The money that Alan’s father paid him had once again allowed him to indulge in this simple luxury. Alan looked to Patrick expectantly. “You said…”

“I know. I haven’t forgotten. You see, it’s not uncommon for a patient to fall in love with his healer, or rather to think that he has. Especially when someone has been as seriously ill or injured as you were. The relief at being alive, the comfort that comes when severe pain is eased, the feeling of healing, especially of wounds as bad as yours, the feeling of reliance on the healer, all these things translate into a dependency. The feeling of helplessness that comes with serious injury of illness…that, too, translates into dependency.

“Some people think that all this sends the patient’s mind back to his childhood, when he was dependent upon his parents, whom he loved, and that this is translated into a feeling like love for the healer. However, it’s not love. It may be gratitude. It may be relief. But, whatever it is, it isn’t love. In your case, and in most long-term cases, the lack of sexual activity serves to heighten, to strengthen this feeling. For a healer to take advantage of a patient, to take advantage of that feeling—whatever it is—is just wrong, and it’s specifically prohibited by our oath.

“I’m going to send a note to your father that you may be allowed visitors. Perhaps you’ll add the names of some of your friends who you’d like to see. If you agree to be careful. Your side is still weak, and…well, just be careful.”

Patrick paused and looked at Alan. The boy’s face told him that this was not the answer that he’d wanted to hear. However, he was too…what? Too proud to admit it?

“Thank you. However, I want no one to see me in this condition. I’m tired. May I sleep, now?” Without waiting for an answer, the boy eased himself from the chair into the bed, and rolled to face the wall.

Patrick went into his own room. Silent tears fell from his eyes.

A tenday later, a note delivered by the new boy summoned Patrick to Master William’s house. This time, Patrick was quick to see that the healer’s visitor was Prince Auric, and that there was coffee for them both.

“Good morning, my lord,” Patrick said.

“Good morning, Patrick,” the prince replied. “I hope Master William’s invitation didn’t interrupt anything critical?” Patrick shook his head. Before the tween could speak, the prince continued, “How is your patient?”

“He is healing very well, sir. I expect to be able to release him, except for strengthening exercises and observation, in a week or two. It will take another month or more before all the damaged muscles regain their strength, however.”

After having exhausted the topic of Alan’s injuries, the prince asked, “What will you do after Alan is discharged? He must have been quite a challenge, and it would seem to me rather boring to return to your past duties.”

More of a challenge than you can imagine, Patrick thought, but answered the prince more calmly, “Truly, my lord, I’d not given it much thought. There’s still much that Master Edo can teach me.”

Usually Patrick had enough warning to be out of the way when Alan’s father visited his son, but this morning he had been caught unaware. “But he is healed, isn’t he?” Alan’s father pressed Patrick for an answer. “You said that he was healed.”

“Yes, all the damage has been healed. There are still muscles that aren’t as strong as they were before, and they will need exercise. Some of the nerve paths, especially in the left leg, are new, and will need to be reinforced by exercise. He shouldn’t over-exert himself, and should continue to eat meat for another month or two to provide the protein he needs to rebuild muscles. But yes, he’s healed.”

“In that case, you are discharged,” the man announced.

Patrick frowned. “Alan is a tween; you can stop paying the fee you agreed with the School Master, but only Alan can discharge me as his healer. I’ll leave you to talk with him.” Patrick stood and walked from the room, leaving the stunned Master of the Hunt, and his son.

“Patrick,” Alan’s voice behind him was soft. “Patrick, you said that only I could discharge you as my healer. If I do so, will you remain my friend? Or am I anticipating? Will you become my friend? Will you still sit with me and tell me stories of Elven lands, and listen to my silly stories of hunting trips? Will you walk with me at night and look at the stars and point the shapes out to me? Will you share yourself with me not as healer and patient but as two boys who are friends? Will you, Patrick?”

The Elf turned as Alan spoke this pretty piece. He looked into the boy’s eyes. “Alan, when you were first brought into the School, I didn’t really see you; I only saw your wounds and the blood. Later that day, after the nurse had cleaned you up, and I saw you lying, asleep on the bed…I think it was then that I fell in love with you. At least, that’s what it felt like. But I remembered my training. Just as it’s not uncommon for a patient to believe he’s in love with his healer, it’s not uncommon for a healer to think he’s in love with a helpless patient…and you were pretty helpless, then.

“I don’t know, Alan. I can’t separate my feelings for you as a person from my feelings for you as a patient…I don’t know what I mean…” Patrick’s voice trailed off to silence.

“So be it. I don’t understand, and I don’t like it, but I’m willing to try anyway,” Alan said. “My father said he would place me in this school for a year. I thought the idea was pretty stupid. Since I’m a tween he can’t really contract for me that way; but he is my father, and I’ll agree. All I ask, then, is that you try to forget that you were my healer, and try to forget that you met me when I was helpless, and try to meet me, again, for the first time. Will you do that?”

Patrick thought for a moment. “Yes. I will…I will try.”

Try as he might, Patrick could not see Alan without assessing the boy’s health. When Alan sparred with the other boys, Patrick watched to see that he was not overextending himself, and bit his lip when the boy invariably did so. In the refectory, Patrick found himself wanting to tell the boy to eat more protein. At night, he fell asleep wondering who was sharing the bed of the most popular boy at the school.

Three months passed; Alan was completely healed. His natural athletic ability coupled with the early training he received from his father soon made him the school’s star student. At the same time, Patrick was becoming more and more alienated and distant. He went through the motions of training, and felt truly alert only when performing as a healer.

“Resign? But why? And where will I find a healer?” The School Master was surprised.

“I have spoken to Master William; he has two apprentices…the tweens who were here as nurses recently…who can handle the work, and he would be very pleased for them to get the experience; he will back them up, as required. As to why…I think that I’ve proven that I’m not a fighter, and will never be one. I am, however, a healer, and would like to expand my experience in that field. I’ll never forget the opportunity you gave me, and I appreciate the efforts you made to train me.”

“If you’re determined, then you have my blessing and my thanks for your service. You will always be welcome here. When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow, before dawn. I want to see the sun rise on the Eastern Road.”

The full moon was halfway from the zenith to the western horizon when Patrick quietly walked toward the stable. He wore his sword, and carried a quarterstaff. On his back he wore a pack and a bedroll. His books were in the magical bag that had been a gift of his mother. There’s a light in the stable. Who…at this hour of the night?

Patrick stood, stunned. His shock gave way to anger. There in the stable, mounted on a huge horse, holding the reins of Patrick’s Elven steed, Windchaser, dressed in brown and green, his ash-blond hair down to his shoulders, and a two-handed sword slung over his back, was Alan. “I thought you’d never get here,” the boy said, ingenuously.

“What…” Patrick’s voice failed him. He swallowed and started again. “What are you doing? Why are you here? How did you know…?”

“What I am doing, is going with you. Why am I here, is because I love you. Not my healer. You. How did I know, is that the Master Edo, who is apparently a lot smarter than you give him credit for, knows how I feel and how you feel, and told me that you were leaving. Now, Windchaser can outrun Dasher, but Dasher has more stamina, and we’ll catch up with you by the end of every day, no matter where you go. If we have to. If you won’t let us ride with you.” Alan dismounted and walked toward Patrick. “I know that you’re older than I am…but I know my mind…and I may know yours better than you do.”

“I love you, Patrick.”

“I…I love you, Alan,” Patrick paused. “I don’t know where I’m going, but I want to ride into the sunrise this morning. Will you go with me?” As he spoke, Patrick walked toward Alan. When he stopped talking he was only inches from the other boy. Alan’s answer was smothered as the boys embraced.